Road Trip
by Phigment
Summary: When Blake and Rose Thorburn decide to blow a few millenia worth of stored chronomancy power, they do with with style.


_This takes place immediately after chapter 14.01 of Wildbow's serial web fiction, Pact. Although it starts up in the middle of Chapter 1, as it were. At the moment, this work is complete and I have no plans to write further chapters._

_Pact, and all the characters from it, are the intellectual property of Wildbow. I just write jokes._

…

"I think that's crude," Grandma Rose said. "A more civilized person would use _words_ to attack me."

"What words are going to matter? What am I going to say that's going to make an impact on you? Honestly, what am I going to do that's going to make you recognize even an _iota_ of the pain you've caused everyone out there?"

"And the pain I've caused _you_?" she asked. "You're most likely right, I suppose. There's very little that someone could say that would shake me."

I never found out if she was right about that, because suddenly the room was very crowded.

There was a low, sustained vibration, like standing when a car nearby has the bass cranked up so much you can't even hear the music, just feel your bones rattling. My vision went hazy, and I had an insane thought the fluid inside my eyeballs was sloshing around too much to see. I began feeling nauseous. It grew, and grew, and then, right at the threshold where it threatened to cross over into actual physical agony, the tension burst.

"Well, fuck," I heard an unfamiliar voice swear. "That was even worse than I expected. There are so many reasons why we don't do this sort of thing, I don't even know where to begin. How did you talk me into this?"

"Don't be such a downer, honey. I _knew _you could do it, and look! Here we are! When we blow millennia of accumulated temporal power, we do it with _style_. Granny Rose is still alive, the bitch, so you were right on target. I wonder when in the process we are? Do you think we missed the name-calling? Because I'd kind of like to hear the part about her being a disgusting, evil, rancid cunt again."

As my vision cleared, I realized I had unconsciously backed against a wall. I shook my head to try and get my brain moving, and did a quick inventory. Me, pretty much OK. Check. Grandma Rose, same as ever, more the pity. Check. Nurse? Check. Lawyer? Check. Cat? Check. Girl in antique clothes? Check. Some slippery jerk wearing sunglasses inside the house? Check. Disturbing two-headed fish monster? Check.

Wait. My brain just barely managed the shift into second gear, but it was enough to point out that something was wrong here. Any second now, I'd figure out what, but Grandma got there first.

"Alister Behaim?" she said said, shocked. "Why are you in my bedroom? How did you even _get in_ here? The wards…"

"Well, it's not that hard when you're invited in by the rightful heir," Sunglasses Guy started, "plus a lot has…"

"We don't have time, babe," the dark-haired girl interrupted. "And she doesn't deserve the explanation, anyhow."

"Aw. But the self-promoting exposition is my favorite part."

"Later, honey. You're a chronomancer. You know time is of the essence. Now, granny, we need to square some things away before you bite it. First, you're a disgusting, evil, rancid cunt. Second, this plan where you sacrifice several of your grandchildren as ablative karma shields? Not cool. Third, the thing where you use a demon to cut your least-awful grandchild into multiple psychologically damaged individuals that you play like chess pieces? Not going to turn out like you're hoping."

She turned toward me suddenly, as if just noticing I was in the room.

"Oh, hey, that's you, isn't it? Or, me, rather. Proto-me. Good ol' what's-your-name. With the tattoos, and the friends and the mental trauma. Rock on, proto-me. Sorry that grandma's going to have you cut up by a demon with a pair of scissors."

"Proto-US," came a creaky voice from the two-headed…

Holy crap, there was a two-headed fish monster in the room.

"My name is actually…," I started, desperately hoping the world would start making sense. Or, at least more comprehensible nonsense.

"I don't want to know. It'll just make things that much more awkward. Go back to Toronto and see Alexis. She's got this friend that will _totally_ dig you, if you play your cards right. Now, Granny, fourth, about those demon lawyers…

The monster shifted with a fanfare of creaking and popping, like a piece of furniture that was about to collapse under too much weight. Then, with an eerie grace, its torso uncoiled. Not a two-headed monster. _Two_ monsters, one some kind of fish, one a roughly person-shaped bundle of dirty sticks. I don't know whether that is better or worse. There was a bird standing on the stick man. It looked like a sparrow. I focused on the bird. I like birds. I could deal with birds.

"Look, Rose," the creaky voice said. I ignored it, in favor of the sparrow. Nice sparrow. It flew over to cling to my belt loop. "Do you still need us here? Because this is going to get very weird if somebody opens that door. Green Eyes and I should probably get going."

"Huh? Yeah, sure. You're right. We should be good. You going to be around later?"

"Nah. Gonna go take care of some stuff. Toronto, then Wisconsin. Then, I dunno. Maybe a beach. Evan, Green Eyes? You ready? Time to go pay the Hyena a visit. Granny, you're a disgusting, evil, rancid cunt. Later, Al."

The stick monster levered open a window and hopped out. The fish monster grabbed all the remaining pastries from the tea cart and slithered after. And then, weirdest of all, the sparrow flew out the window, metal jingling from its little feet. It bounced a little in midair, and young child's voice floated on the breeze.

"Road trip! Road trip! Woooooo!"

Down in the yard, I heard an engine start up. A small engine. Sounded like a motor…

I felt my pockets. Son of a bitch.

"Rooooooooooaad Triiiiiiiiip!"

I watched from the window as two monsters and a songbird stole my motorcycle and rode off into the night.


End file.
